Trust
by xxMrsJxx
Summary: He loved for him. That took trust. Bats/Joker rated M for language


Hi everyone! This is my second one shot fanfic with Bruce/Joker (the best couple to ever live) and reviews would be so appreciated! I'd love if you'd PM me with requests for other stories, I can do graphic stuff too lol but I only do oneshots! 'Kay that's long enough right? To the story! Enjoy!

_Trust_

I'm in the palm of your hands tonight.

Having trouble sleeping.

I'm wonderin' if you're thinking of me.

Oh, the sight of love.

Can you make you wanna turn your life around.

Make you wanna live for someone else.

Someone who relies on no one else.

I'm holdin' on to all I know

And all I know is letting go.

I'm feeling like I'm taken under.

I'm loving every second of it.

This could take a day or so.

Convince you what I already know.

And then you'll say you'll never wonder.

What life could be with another.

And I'm holding on to you.

No one else will ever do.

_Sight of Love-Michael Rossback_

You have to know that this is scary for me, too. It's not like it's easy. Even if we weren't the way we are, who we are, it would be scary. I think it's always scary, especially for the kind of people we are, the kind of monsters or criminals or vigilantes, enemies, whatever you want to call our sorry excuses for lives.

You have to understand that I have trust issues. Trusting you, trusting love, trusting myself. I've seen fools all my life, sappy morons who don't _think_ about things, just follow their hearts, and where has that little beating red organ ever gotten them? Pain. It's an ugly thing, really, love. That's why they call it lovesick. People say you can die from a broken heart. But death never scared me. Even when I was getting my face cut open by the man sick enough to do it, sick enough to make me into this monstrous being of laughter and insanity and _feelings_, those awful, inconsequential _feelings_ that I _hate_, I hate them so much I want to straight tear them out of my body and slam them on the floor in front of you, a sacrifice to all you are and all I'm not.

I know that we'll never really be together, not in a bed smothered with red roses and champagne. I know that it'll always be up against a dirty wall in a painfully hard and unfeeling alley. Yet I don't feel dirty, after. After, I always feel an odd sense of...belonging. Squeaky clean and shiny, glimmering from love and happiness that I don't deserve. Trembling in your arms.

And it's good. It's better, this way. This way, there's no pressure to take off our faces or keep them on, and you do always keep yours on, even if you know I know, right Bats? My grease paint rubs right off, and you get to see me like no one else, scarred and vulnerable to you, my one weakness, my one love. And you know the thing about roses? Eventually they wither and die, are left to rot after their beauty fades. And I wouldn't dare promise on something as 'inconstant as the moon', and that's romantic isn't it? That I know that play where the lovers die in the end?

It scares me, though, 'cause it's not that I don't trust you to let me live, to kill me, because, as I said earlier, I'm not scared of death. It would hurt, of course, if I was torn apart from you. Like ripping out a piece of my soul. But I know we'd find each other again eventually. In another life or some shit like that. No, I'm scared you'll get bored eventually, or realize how shallow and selfish and awful, truly awful, I am, unfixable, and walk away.

It scares me that our relationship is fragile enough that you can just walk away at any time, and my world would come crashing down around me like a glass vase knocked off a table in slow motion by some idiot kid who was running in the house.

We're standing on a tightrope here, Bats, can't you see? The thread so thin, so breakable. It's always been this way. I just didn't really think about it before. Didn't let myself think about it. It hurt to much. But I have to face the truth, baby. We have to face the truth.

You're a hero, a god. I'm a lowlife scum criminal. What kind of life is this? Fucking in dark alleys, touching sweetly and kissing softly after, stunned from the aftermath of that incredible, life shattering feeling because it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter that it's in an alley where someone's probably been murdered, probably by me, because it's with you. And you're all that matters to me anymore. You were always all that mattered to me.

And I can be anywhere, _anywhere_, with you and be happy. We can go live in a dying, rotting apartment and I would be happy, as long as I'm with you. As long as I get to be with you.

So you have a choice to make here, Bruce. And I need you to know I'm serious for once, so I'm gonna use your name. Your real name. Even though to me, you'll never be Bruce, because you'll always be Bats. My Bats. But I need you to decide. If I'm important enough to stay with, important enough to risk everything for, because you sure are. I'm not saying to give up the masked vigilante stuff, because hey, that's hot, that's what introduced us, right? Just...consider it, maybe. A life with me. A life with a murderer, a killer, a monster, someone like the people you fight so hard against everyday from infesting your precious little Gotham city. And I just want you to know, before you decide, that I would die for you. I'd do anything for you.

I loved for you, didn't I?


End file.
